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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22939615">Noncompliance</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/LogicGunn/pseuds/LogicGunn'>LogicGunn</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Stargate Atlantis</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Captured, Cold, Kneeling, M/M, Rescue, Rodney McKay Whump, Sexual Humiliation, Stripped</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 08:56:25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,062</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22939615</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/LogicGunn/pseuds/LogicGunn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“They’ll take away your comforts one by one to wear you down.” </p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Rodney McKay/John Sheppard</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>106</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Noncompliance</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/logans_girl2001/gifts">logans_girl2001</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>For logans_girl2001 who asked for some Rodney kneeling. This isn't quite what you'll be expecting but I hope you like it anyway.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em> “They’ll take away your comforts one by one to wear you down.” </em> </p><p>Rodney remembers John’s words when they take his jacket. They already have his tac vest and his holster and his Beretta. It’s only just the wrong side of temperate so he doesn't miss it the second they remove it, but the cell has bars on its windows and the evening breeze cools his skin. After a while, his body heat starts to dissipate and he longs for its warmth. He rubs his hands up and down his arms to try to warm himself up, feels the goose bumps tickling his fingers. He thinks of home, of his temperature-controlled lab and hot coffee and Teyla’s tuttleroot soup. </p><p>Sometime in the night, they come for his boots and he drops one socked foot then the other onto the sodden ground feeling the wetness squelch in between his toes. Better his feet than his ass so he stands the whole night through even though he’s progressively more exhausted with each hour that passes. The cell is bare except for a bucket in the corner which stinks of the people locked in here before him. He holds out till dawn but when he can stand it no longer he relieves himself quickly, under the watchful eye of his guard, careful not to knock the bucket over even though it’s clear this has happened many times before. </p><p>When they ask him to build the bomb for the first time, he refuses. </p><p> </p><p><em> “When they strip you, it’s to try to get you to feel vulnerable. You have to let it go. You have to own your nakedness.” </em> </p><p>He’s not surprised when they take the rest of his clothes at gunpoint, with his own gun no less. He’s resigned to it as he strips slowly, methodically, mentally saying farewell to each piece he removes. When he baulks at removing his boxers the gun is unceremoniously pressed into his back to remind him who’s boss. He drops them to the floor, kicks them into the pile which is then scooped up and taken away. It takes every ounce of strength not to cover himself with his hands as their eyes take in his naked form dispassionately. He's proud of that. </p><p>It isn’t long before he starts to shiver uncontrollably, trembling from head to toe and he tries to do some jumping jacks but he slips on the moss on the ground, and the feeling of his genitals flapping around in front of his captors is too much to bear. He won’t cover them with his hands, he won’t. So he sets his mind to solving a millennium problem to distract himself from his discomfort until the sun rises enough to warm him through the bars and the shivering abates. </p><p>When they ask him to build the bomb for the second time, he shakes his head and refuses. </p><p> </p><p><em> “When they make you kneel at their feet, it’s to show you your place.” </em> </p><p>Someone kicks him in the back of the legs and he folds down onto his knees. The floor is cold, wet and rough, covered in dirt and old blood and piss and soaking wet moss. They tie his hands behind him, string them to his feet so he can’t get up again. They kick his knees apart and it strains his thigh muscles, but when he tries to bring them back together he’s backhanded across his face. John’s had him endure stress positions worse than this so he knows he can stand it for a while at least, but he pretends it’s worse than it is to deter them from pushing him further. Better for them to think he’s a powerless civilian than someone who’s started running with Ronon. </p><p>The tiny stones digging into his knees and shins start to drive him crazy. He can feel each one like a boulder as his body weight sinks him down onto them but he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t try to move, just thinks about the last time he babysat Torren to keep his mind off them. Bubble baths and pyjamas and bedtime stories. (It’s not so easy to ignore the feel of his balls touching the moss, however.) </p><p>When they ask him to build the bomb for the third time, he grits his teeth and refuses. </p><p> </p><p><em> “If they try to put their hands on you, let them.” </em> </p><p>He isn’t prepared for it when someone grabs his hair and rubs his face in their crotch. It isn’t exactly what he had in mind when John talked about touching. How is he supposed to let this happen? How is he supposed to endure it? The zipper grazes against his cheek, his nose, his mouth, tugging the skin abrasively. He tries to ignore the hardness underneath but it whacks the side of his face unrepentantly and he recoils at the thought of what will happen next. But it doesn’t. He’s released back down onto his heels and a harsh laugh echoes around the cell before the door slams shut. </p><p>When they ask him to build the bomb for the fourth time, he cries and refuses. </p><p> </p><p><em> “Don’t give in. I’m coming to get you.” </em> </p><p>Gunfire echoes into the cell, P90s. The guard rushes off to help his comrades and Rodney’s left alone for the first time since he was put in here. His team have come, they’ll take him home. But first, he has to get out of the bindings. He doesn't want them to see him like this, naked and dirty and afraid, cowering in a cell. Doesn’t want John to come in and look down on him on his knees for any reason other than their mutual pleasure. He pulls at his bonds, tugs them in every direction but they are masterfully tied and don’t budge. Footsteps sound in the corridor outside, the gunfire has ceased and the sound of the key in the lock signals that he’s out of time. Either his team have found him or... </p><p>And then John bursts into the cell, flanked by Ronon and Teyla. He falls to his knees in front of Rodney and wraps his arms around him, unsheathing his knife and slicing easily through the rope. Rodney’s shoulders ache but he holds onto John as Teyla covers him with an emergency blanket. John doesn't let go. </p><p>“We’ve got you, Rodney. Let’s get you home.” </p>
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